In Heaven and on Earth - And down to Hell
by TashimiaAuthor
Summary: Dean opens his eyes as a Demon, and Castiel finds his friend changed, although he doesn't realise why. At least not untill Dean's new lusts and needs makes the Demon go to drastic lenghts to get his Angel. Real storyline about how Sam tries to save his brother, but in the Spirit of Destiel, this is set up for Mature content.


_**1.  
**_

* * *

Castiel looked at Metatron, not understanding. Not wanting to understand. Unable to understand.

Even with all the references and all the knowledge of pop culture and litterateur that Metatron had given him, he cannot understand these words.

"_You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately it was all about saving one human, right? Well, guess what: he's dead, too."_

The words echoed into the silence inside Castiel's head.

_"__He's dead, too."_

He? Who is he? Dean?

_"__He's dead,"_

But Dean cannot be dead. It is impossible, because Dean has a guardian angel. Dean has Castiel and Castiel have done everything for him, everything to keep him alive.

_"__Dead."_

A terrible word, dead, so horribly close to dread. And dread fills Castiel as his wings unfurl, already wanting to fly to Dean, to make sure that he is safe and that Metatron is lying.

And at the same time his heart breaks, for with all that Castiel has been through, with all that he has seen, there is somehow still something inside him that believes. Believes in the truth and goodness in people, the honesty of them.

He barely listens to Metatron's continued monologue as he flaps his wings and disappears as only an Angel could, his stolen grace burning inside him, eating away of the last time of his life.

* * *

A breath fills his lungs as he opens his eyes.

He knows that they are black, black burning demon eyes.

The knife throbs in his hand, darkness pulsing from it and radiating through his body.

_Blessed blackness__._

His face is sticky with dried blood, as are his clothes.

_Sweet blood._

He knows that he should care. But he does not. All he feels are a strange kind of peace that he can not remember ever feeling before, not even when he lived with Lisa, never when he passed out drunk.

He sits up slowly his black gaze flickering to Crowley and then down to the knife in his hand and the mark on his exposed arm. Cain's mark. His mark. It's a fiery red, as if it was a new scar, burning on his skin, sending impulses through him.

He shivers.

Trembles.

Exhilarates with the power that fills him.

"Well now." Crowley says with his typical voice. "Welcome to my side of the game."

Dean shifts his gaze back to him, tilting his head like an animal.

"Crowley." he grunts, remembering the person in front of him. Remembering the desire to kill him as well as the feeling of friendship that had appeared from time to time. And not caring. He is cold now, but somehow the idea of killing the demon king is pleasurable and sweet to his mind.

"Dean." Crowley answers, tilting his head and looking around. "Quite an interesting look those eyes give you. They're almost as dashing as my own."

"Crrrrooowwwlley." Dean half growls and half purrs, not listening to the words of the demon, but contemplating killing him, contemplating the desire to hurt and maim and wondering at the lack of disgust at the thought.

Wondering at the excitement.

And finding himself smiling.

Crowley smiles, as if responding to Dean, but shakes his head at the same time.

"I told you." he says. "Your brother is downstairs summoning me, so sadly, I don't have the time to play with you." He tilts his head again, giving that dry smile that always seems so provoking when it comes from him. "Chau." he says dryly and then he disappears.

Dean growls. An beastly deep throat tearing growl. Then he stands, still slowly, for his mind and soul does not seem to fit completely with the body yet. But it will. The mark pulses and burns and tells him that soon, soon it will.

His tongue flicks out to moisten his dry lips and it catches the salty taste of the metallic blood. It is his own and it is dry, but the taste sends a rush of lust through him none the less. He wobbles as he takes a step, but then he pulls himself up tall. He is the king, the best, the beast. And he will hunt whatever prey he should find fitting.

Best, beast, feast.

A feast.

A feast of blood.

He licks his lips again and takes a deep breath, taking in the amazing smell of the blood, his whole body trembling with want. He blinks, knowing suddenly that his eyes are flickering between his own eye color and black. He blinks again, his eyes settling into the familiar green.

Then he takes another deep breath, intelligence battling off the beast and washing over him as a cold flood, removing the intense desire to kill and cooling the fire in his body. He remembers Crowley's words through the haze that seems to cover everything before he changed. Remembers Crowley telling him how his human body could not keep the blade in check. Remembers him talking about how his human body was the reason for his addiction to killing.

He is no longer addicted to killing. But he lusts for it none the less and even though he can control it, he feels a cold carelessness towards it all. Killing might be fun, actually. He tastes the blood again. And he smiles.

And then the sound of wings makes him turn and look behind him.

"Castiel." he says, the name formal and foreign on his tongue. "Cas."

"Dean." Castiel breaths out the name, his low voice filled with relief and wonder.

A stab of disgust runs through Dean at the sound of his name on the Angel's lips. It takes an effort of will not to sneer at him, but he keeps his face plain.

"How?" Castiel asks. "Metatron said you were dead..."

Dean looks down on his arm, to the blade and the mark, and then back to Castiel.

"I was." he says.

* * *

Sam sets fire to the items in front of him for the second time, his jaw tense and his eyes moist.

"Crowley." he growls. "Crowley, you owe us, goddammit."

"I do believe I paid that debt already, Moose." Crowley says, appearing inside the summoning circle. "Lovely place, this. Almost makes me glad to be summoned here so often."

"Crowley, bring him back!" Sam says, shaking all over. His mouth twists. "Bring him back or I'll swear I'll take you down for good."

"Down boy." Crowley answers. "I have no problem escaping here and, if you don't mind me saying, Dean was the muscle and you the brains, so forget me if I don't feel very threatened." He shifts his weight from one side to the other. "Besides, I'm pretty he's already up and about." He sighs. "You Winchesters are such a drag to kill. You never just stay dead."

Sam looks at him, not understanding.

"He's alive?" he asks.

* * *

_**A/N:  
A little thing I got started on after the whole season finale. Not sure if I'm gonna continue it, but it seems interesting. There's also a bit of a problem with the whole exam-period ruining my life. I'm not a big fan of Destiel, but it's got potentiel and I just can't resist the whole Angel/Demon thing, so since Meg is gone, this has got to do xD  
**_


End file.
